Fear
by hpaich
Summary: Brennan fights a horrible enemy. Can Booth help her?
1. Chapter 1

**Okay - I know I owe you guys another chapter of The Bet, and I am working on that. However, the timing is right for this. It's October, and here comes Halloween. I thought something a little scary might be appropriate. This was started a long, long time ago; I think it deserves to be finished. So if the style seems a bit different from how I write now, well, you'll know why. I hope you enjoy!**

Fear follows us,  
Fear stalks us,  
Fear controls us,  
Fear is all we Think

_~ Corey Fauchon, Fear_

PROLOGUE

_**Brennan.**_

_**Brennan…**_

Shadows writhed, beckoned. A cold, clammy breeze slithered stealthily through the room. Brennan woke with a start - her heart rapidly pounding in her ears, every muscle tensed. _I heard something – I know I heard something_. Straining, she listened carefully. _There_. Her heart sped up, impossibly fast. A faint dragging noise. Carefully, mindful of the bed springs, she eased to a crouching position, her hand automatically reaching for her trusty baseball bat. As she stood, her head spun, and she leaned weakly on the wall. _What's wrong with me?_ She shook her head and carefully made her way through the darkness toward the bedroom door. The light switch was under her fingers when she stopped, caught in a stranglehold by a nameless horror. _Something's out there. Lights are bad. _Another noise, louder this time, filtered through the door. A noise unlike any noise she knew. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. A greasy wave of nausea swept over her, and she swallowed convulsively, taking two terrified steps back before stopping herself. _ What the hell is the matter with me? _Tightening her clammy fingers on her weapon, she once again approached the door. On the third try, her slippery grip held, and the door swung silently inward, bringing with it a chill current of fetid air.

_I can't see – why can't I see_? She knew she'd left on a light, but the open space yawned before her, the black emptiness appearing almost solid. She wanted to hold her breath, her rasping gasps were so loud. But she couldn't control her lungs, couldn't stop the fear that clung to her like the panicked sweat layering her skin. _Ohgodohgodohgodohgod…I have to hide. I have to hide. _A whimper struggled to burst from her lips and was barely contained. As everything in her, every fiber of her being screamed at her to turn and run, her trembling legs began to move, carrying her slowly into the obsidian void. She struggled to run, to back away and shut the door. _Hide under the bed_. But on she moved, unwilling feet dragging, step after step, inch after inch. A quick skitter of _something_ sounded behind her, and she whirled, bat raised over her head. _Nothing_. Her relieved sigh was cut short as the bat twisted in her hands, squirming, and wrapped around her wrist, drawing a shriek from her. She tried to fling it away from her, but the bat – no, the _snake _was undulating up her arm, its thick gray body tightening painfully around her elbow. She screamed again and again, her abused throat shredding as the serpent latched its fangs into her tender flesh. In a final act of desperation, she swung her arm, bringing it painfully against the molding.

The bat clattered to the floor, the wooden thud echoing in the room.

Eyes wide, panting, she swung in wild circles, afraid to touch anything, afraid to leave her back exposed. _Help me, please somebody help me. _But she knew no one was coming. No one would ever come. _**Alone**__._ Now she did stop breathing, would have stopped her heart if possible. _I didn't say that. I know I didn't say that._ A low, throbbing chanting was floating in the room like a filthy haze. _**Abandoned. Alone. Unloved. Damaged.**_ She shook her head violently, silently sobbing, denying the accusations. _I'm not – I'm not! Not alone, not alone, not alone…_ Before she could finish her sentence, her head came up, mouth open in despair. _Behind me. It's behind me. It's behind me._ The hair on her neck rose in grim agreement. She knew it was there. She knew she was not alone in the room. But she knew she would face it alone. _**Turn around, Temperance Brennan. It's time**__. _Wet, gleeful laughter licked at her ears, and she searched for what little courage remained within her. And spun.

BBBBB

Pain. Sharp, penetrating. She stretched, groaning at the stiffness and aches that permeated her body. As her mind slowly engaged, she realized she was lying on a hard, cold surface. Opening her eyes was simply too much effort – with one hand she groped around, fingers searching for information and finding it in the delicately turned leg of a table. _Tibetan table._ A table she'd bought some years ago. A disappointed sigh eased past her lips, and she slowly sat up, feeling half a century older than her actual age. Her living room. Her eyes opened, exposing a dullness very rarely displayed. In the dim glow cast by the light she'd left burning, she could clearly see that all was in its place. _Another dream, then._ She sighed yet again, and began the arduous task of rising to her feet. _Third night in a row. _

Making her way laboriously to the kitchen, she flicked on the overhead lights and plucked the kettle from the stove. There was no point in looking at the clock – there would be no more sleep tonight – but she looked anyway. _One forty-five. Figures._ Each time the dreams had come – nightmares, more accurately – it was approximately an hour after she'd fallen asleep. And each time, she'd awakened somewhere other than her bed. A sneer of self-disgust contorted her lovely mouth. For someone who was eminently sensible – and she, Temperance Brennan was nothing if not sensible – this utter lack of control over her sleeping mind, her resting body, was intolerable.

Wearily she measured coffee grounds, making sure to double the amount. A long day of solving murders was ahead – and a long, sleepless night prior to that. Sooner or later the lack of sleep was going to become apparent to those around her. Too many critical details were under her microscope each day; eventually she would incorrectly identify a bone shard or miss some other essential bit of evidence. That was simply unacceptable. As it was, Booth had already commented on her tired state. Her partner had given her several long looks throughout the day yesterday, and although she'd adopted her usual crisp demeanor, he'd eventually made a pithy comment that she wasn't getting enough rest. A flippant remark from her had been enough to end the conversation, but she'd still felt his eyes on her and knew he was watching her. There were very definite drawbacks to working with a sharply observant FBI agent.

But why was she dreaming so much? Although she was aware that she did, in fact, dream now and again, for the most part her dreams were innocuous and short-lived. The only other instance in which she'd had nightmares was when she'd believed Booth was dead. But unlike that time, when the nightmares were a direct result of a perceived tragedy, these new nightmares seemed to have no connection to current events in her life. Also unlike the first time, the terror she experienced during these episodes faded quickly upon waking. She tried to bring back the emotions from earlier, but was unable to find them. The sleepwalking was a disturbing development – until this week she'd never before left her bed while asleep. She would simply have to research her symptoms. There simply had to be a physical causative agent for what was happening to her_. _

A puff of coffee-scented air interrupted her musings, and she poured a generous mug of the potent liquid. She was not at all sure that the coffee would have a long-lasting effect, and she cast about furiously for a distraction. _Work_. She could always count on her massive caseload to provide welcome – in this case, very welcome – relief. In her bones and her files she could forget about dreams and emotions and other uncomfortable, nebulous quantities. In her bones and files were fact, science, logic. Normalcy. She wrapped her arms around the latest addition to her at-home tasks, hefting the box with the intention of moving to the dining room. The flare of pain in her right arm was so unexpected she released her hold, watching in stunned disbelief as bones and papers cascaded across the smooth floor_._ Pushing aside the feeling of unease rolling in her stomach, she unbuttoned her sleep top and pulled her arm free.

The ugly dark bruise spread along her swollen forearm, from her elbow to her wrist.


	2. Chapter 2

**My apologies for not giving a little bit more backstory - it's been a while since I posted something new! This takes place probably late Season 2 or early Season 3 - and not canon, obviously. Thanks so much for reading, guys!**

**FEAR**

Rain lashed the stately brick façade of the Jeffersonian, flung by an angry wind. The weather forecasters had called for periods of sun and clouds, so unprepared employees and interns unlucky enough to park outside dashed madly for the entrances, resembling drowning rats in reverse flight to the dignified building. Within the dry confines of the lab, Angela spared one brief glance at the maelstrom on the other side of the expansive windows as she made her way to Zach's room. Once there, she waited as he scurried from one workstation to another. Such was his utter concentration, she repeated his name three times without receiving a response. Her head tilted mischievously. Clearly more drastic measures were required. When his trotting circuit brought him nearer to her she simply stepped into his path. "Zach."

Although he skidded to a halt, he wasn't quite quick enough to avoid bumping into her. Flustered and clearly distracted, he nonetheless switched his attention to her with the single-minded focus for which he was famous. "Angela. I apologize, I didn't see you." He slid his notepad under his arm and tucked his hands in his pockets. "How can I help you?"

"Cam said you have the Tang Dynasty skull, and I need it for reconstruction. Is it ready?" At his blank stare, she looked at him in astonishment. "Did you **forget** to do the the skull?"

"No – I haven't gotten to it yet, but I'm going to skip lunch and finish it. You'll have it by two." He broke away from her and raced to the other side of the room, picking up and discarding various documents along the way.

"What's going on, Zach? Did you oversleep this morning or something?" She stopped him again as he began to whiz by her. "I've never seen you this busy." She realized that he was reluctant to speak, and her curiosity grew. "C'mon, Zach, fess up."

"Well – it's Dr. Brennan."

"Brennan? Is she here? I haven't seen her yet today." She could have sworn Zach actually looked nervous – and that made her nervous. "Out with it, Zach. What's up?"

"She came in early this morning and gave me work to do."

"So? That's what she always does."

"Yes, but this was the work she brought home with her last night. She has never failed to complete her bring-home work. Never in the entire time I've been here." He swiped absently at a stray lock of hair. "I wasn't expecting it, and didn't plan accordingly – and now I'm a great deal behind with my regular daytime work."

"Well, don't worry about it too much, Z-Man. She doesn't expect you to be Superman. I think she's just really swamped lately. Take your lunch – I can do the face this afternoon. If you want, I'll talk to Brennan; drop a little word in her ear."

"Why would Dr. Brennan want me to wear tights and a cape? Please don't say anything, Angela. I'll have the skull for you as soon as possible. Excuse me, I should keep working."

She watched his rapidly retreating figure, an affectionate smile twisting her lips. _Poor Zach. I wonder if he'll ever truly relax around Bren?_ At a tap on her shoulder, she turned her head. "Hey, Booth. What's up?"

"Got a case. Seems like we always get cases when it's pouring. Have you seen Bones?" He jerked his thumb toward Zach, momentarily distracted and mildly amused by the sight of the panicked scientist. "What's wrong with him? Well, more wrong than normal, I mean."

A chuckle snuck from her lips as she leaned closer, bumping shoulders with him. "Oh, he's okay. Brennan gave him some extra work that she couldn't finish last night and he's just a little…freaked out. I told him to calm down, but, well…" She shrugged casually. "…as you see."

Always one for details, in particular any details concerning his partner, Booth frowned, focusing on one key portion of her reply. "Bones couldn't finish her work? Since when?"

"Well she's been pretty busy lately, and I guess the stuff she took home with her was just a little too much. So she gave it to Zach." She glanced at him. "Is something wrong?"

"Probably not. It just surprised me, I guess. Bones always finishes her work." Unwilling to cause concern when he had no solid reason to do so, he dropped the subject. His gut, however, refused to stand down. Something was definitely off with Bones – he'd have to keep a closer eye on her_._ He refocused his attention on Angela. "So where is she?"

"Well, I haven't seen her at all, but Zach said she's here, so she's most likely in Limbo right now. And she's probably been down there most of the morning. Do me a favor and get her out of here? She needs some -" At a loud peal of thunder, she rolled her eyes in resignation. "Well, I was going to say she needs some sunshine, but I think today I'll have to settle for her getting some fresh air."

"No problem, Angela. That's my plan exactly." He turned, paused. "Hey, we're gonna hit the diner later. You want anything brought back for lunch?"

"No thanks. Jack and I are going to lunch in a little while. As a matter of fact, we're going to drag Zach to lunch, make him take a break too," she decided on the spot. "Thanks anyway – hey, don't get her all wet, it's really raining out there!" she called to his swiftly retreating form.

His attention already diverted from their conversation, he made a beeline for the stairs. He needed to find out what was going on with Bones_. Time to have a little chat with my main squint._

BBBBB_  
_

Brennan was prostrate on the small worktable, forehead resting on a pile of reports, when the rapid clatter on the metal stairs warned her of an impending visitor. She hastily straightened and swiped her hand across her eyes, rubbing hard. Hopefully it was Zach_. W_hatever he might think of her appearance, he would keep it to himself and ask no questions. Her hopes were rudely dashed when Booth swung around the corner. _Shit. Damn it._ She quickly bent over and reached into the closest bone box, hoping the impromptu trip upside-down would add some color to her face.

"Bones – what're you doing down here?" Booth skidded to a halt in front of the lab table and peered probingly over the piles of research. "I've been trying to call you. We have a case."

She straightened, carefully lifting a small, damaged skull to the tabletop. "You know the celphones don't work down here, Booth. I told you that the last time you accused me of ignoring your calls."

He quickly took his usual stance regarding the topic. "Why a multi-million dollar joint like this can't get your cel to work down here, I'll never know." Plucking a folder from the top of her pile, he scanned it, knowing she'd instantly take it back from him.

"If they need me they send an intern for me." She snatched the papers out of his hands. "If you need me you call me seven times and then come down yourself. I don't see any problem." She immediately regretted her irritable tone. If she wanted to avoid arousing his suspicion, snapping at him was not the way to achieve that goal. Forcing a pleasant expression onto her face, she tried again. "You said we have a case?"

_Nice try, Bones. _She was definitely out-of-sorts. _That's the special tone she reserves just for me when she's cranky_. "Yeah. Outside the District, in Fairfax. Construction worker securing the site against the storm found a skeleton floating in one of the excavated areas. Gave him a hell of a shock." She was much too pale, he mused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Her eyes were almost bleary-looking. Adept at reading his partner, he was now positive that something was wrong.

"Bones don't float. They can't be real bones." Perhaps it would be all right – with a sense of relief, she realized that he wasn't going to confront her. Ignoring his attempts to hurry her, she carefully organized her files and switched off the lab light. "Can't the local police even tell authentic bones from false anymore?" As she lifted her crate, he moved to take it from her – a maneuver she always successfully resisted. This time, as they both tugged on the plastic her sore arm flashed a shot of pain at her and she quickly relinquished her hold.

"According to the M.E., they're definitely real. And they're definitely floating." His attempt to carry her crate successful, he smothered his surprise and stepped behind her as they neared the stairs. "So pack up your duds, and grab a slicker, 'cause it's pouring out there." Her halfhearted grumble drifted back to him and he smiled, satisfied. She'd tell him what was wrong over lunch. He'd get it out of her. He always did.


End file.
